Preparing to head out to Detroit for two weeks. The biggest job will be
repacking the music cases. We saw the John Sayles movie, Sunshine
State, yesterday. I won't attempt a review here; just let me note
that nobody else weaves together a richer slice-of-life tapestry;
also that Mary Alice and Bill Cobbs stand out in a cast that never
lets up.

Music: Time to flush out a lot of listening-in-progress.

Arthur Blythe: Focus (2002, Savant). The tuba and
marimba lay out a rich and varied bottom, ...
A

The Herbie Nichols Project: Strange City (2001, Palmetto).
Nichols' own recordings are limited to piano trios, with three CDs on
Blue Note and another on Bethlehem that I've long found relentlessly
interesting. Steve Lacy, Roswell Rudd, and Misha Mengelberg have done
the most to keep Nichols' flame alive, often grouping Nichols with
Thelonious Monk. Indeed, the similarity in their work is striking,
but Nichols was the more adroit pianist, and his compositions were
more supple, but Monk at least got a chance to orchestrate his work
for horns. In this latest Nichols revival, pianist Frank Kimbrough
is just fine, but the horn arrangements around Nichols' compositions
are the main draw. It's a rich and invigorating album. A-

Matthew Shipp: Nu Bop (2002, Thirsty Ear). Shipp has
one of the most distinctive piano styles around -- chords falling
in heavy, angular blocks -- but what makes this one stand above
the rest is how the electronics set up a comparably harsh background.
A-

Spoon: A Series of Sneaks (1998, Elektra). I picked
this up after I heard about Kill the Moonlight, but before
actually hearing it. I was struck immediately by how tight it was.
A-

Spoon: Kill the Moonlight (2002, Merge). A richer
album -- maturity, or at least experience, will do that, at least
when you start as firmly as A Series of Sneaks. I've played
more new rock 'n' roll in the last two weeks than any time in the
last 25 years or so, and this record most of all. (Let's face it,
the Mekons were easy to peg.)
A

Music: Spent the last few days repeatedly playing a new batch of records,
including three Xgau-rated A rock albums (Mekons, Sleater-Kinney, Spoon),
and some jazz (Arthur Blythe, Kahil El'Zabar, Matthew Shipp) that is
closer to the A-/A boundary than the B+/A- boundary. The Mekons, by the
way, is closer to the A/A+ boundary.

Imperial Teen: On (2002, Merge). Their first album,
Seasick, was the freshest alt-indie guitar band of the late
1990's -- undeniable at a time when my attraction to the genre had
bottomed-out.
A-

Mekons: OOOH! (Out of Our Heads) (2002, Quarterstick).
They hadn't made a great album since 1991, when the arrogance of New
World Order roused them to remind us that socialism can't be dead
because it hasn't even been tried yet. Now that the old arrogance is
back, so is the Mekons' fury. This explodes on the first cut, "Thee
Olde Road to Jerusalem,"
A

Bosavi: Rainforest Music From Papua New Guinea (2001,
Smithsonian/Folkways, 3CD). The first disc here, "Guitar Bands of
the 1990s," is qaint, charming, primitivist pop music, reminding
me more than a little of appalachian field recordings from the '20s.
The other two discs are more work: ethnographic field recordings
that rarely rise above chant-and-response and occasionaly descend
into environmental noise. B

Don Byron: Plays the Music of Mickey Katz (1992,
Elektra Nonesuch). Byron's fondness for klezmer is often written
off as a desire for juicier clarinet parts, but there is more
going on here. Katz was a parodist -- he started out with Spike
Jones, and his broad humor is easily grasped in something as
slight and obvious as his "Seder Dance." Byron clearly gets off
on such hijinks -- in his liner notes he cites such comparable
bandleaders as Raymond Scott and John Kirby, who he took up in
his later Bug Music. Talented group of musicians, too,
including pianist Uri Caine, who dug deeper into much the same
history with his Tin Pan Alley. B+

Floyd Cramer: The Essential Floyd Cramer (1995, RCA).
Elevator music for all those Nashville highrises. C+

Otis Spann: Best of the Vanguard Years (1966-69, Vanguard).
A mixed bag: Spann is one of the great blues piano players, but rarely
takes command of a record, which leaves too many of these late sessions
sounding perfunctory.

Ricky Woodard: The Silver Strut (1995, Concord). Good
player, good album; lots of that fast, precise bopswing that you can
expect from your better mainstream post-Parker, post-McLean altoists.
B+

Afro-Celt Sound System: Volume 2: Release (1999, RealWorld).
As a techo band, which is where I'd file them, they're not bad, but
neither the Afro nor the Celt adds much to the package. B

Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers: The Witch Doctor
(1961, Blue Note). The Lee Morgan/Wayne Shorter lineup again, not as
consistent as Roots and Herbs, but nearly as great. A-

Bruce Springsteen: The Rising (2002, Columbia). Here I
find myself in the decidedly strange, if not all that uncomfortable,
position of actually liking a Springsteen album more than the critical
consensus. But then my idea of a good Springsteen album has always
been The River -- I like it when Bruce feels good but doesn't
overreach. Not that he feels so good this time, but at least his
essay on recent history doesn't claim much more than a common set
of perceptions, which he undersells by couching them in a somewhat
duller version of his neoclassic sound. (As opposed to overselling
his never-so-great auteurship through the unsustainable minimalism
of Nebraska and The Ghost of Tom Joad.) When all is
said and done, Springsteen's major accomplishment was to scale good
old rock 'n' roll up to arena rock standards; if that doesn't seem
like much now, it's because back in 1975 we didn't realize how much
more fun small bands in small venues would turn out to be.
B+

Caetano Veloso: Livro (1998, Elektra/Nonesuch). Veloso
is regarded as a giant in Brazil, but his easy-going samba has little
of the bite that overcomes the need for translation. This one meets
the U.S. market more than half-way, with a full book of translations
and enough beat to rise from pleasant to beguiling. B+

Bhundu Boys: The Shed Sessions (1982-86, Sadza, 2CD).
This combines two old LPs, Shabini and Tsvimbodzemoto,
which once upon a time I graded B+ and A-, respectively. I still
have the LPs, so if I weren't so rushed here I should dig them out
and do the comparisons. But I find myself enjoying these two CDs
much more than I recall enjoying the albums. The Bhundu Boys come
from Zimbabwe, which geographically puts them midway between South
Africa and Zaire. The reigning pop idiom in Zimbabwe is chimurenga,
which is almost a byword for Thomas Mapfumo, but what I hear here
is a profound synthesis of these geographic poles: township jive
vocals on top of soukous guitars. The Boys' history is tragic, but
this music is exalted. A

John Prine: Souvenirs (2000, Oh Boy). After only writing
one song on In Spite of Ourselves, this live rehash of his golden
oldies looks like serious writer's block. On top of which, they're
played small. Except for the exquisite "People Puttin' People Down."
B+

James Talley: Live (1979, Bear Family). Recorded from two
dates in 1979 -- one at the Lone Star Cafe in NYC, where I saw him play,
well, circa 1979. Talley recorded four albums for Capitol from 1975-1977,
the first one of the most finely wrought pieces of Americana ever
recorded, the second a populist left-turn that yielded his trademark
songs, "Tryin' Like the Devil" and "Are They Gonna Make Us Outlaws
Again?" He was a smart writer, a sweet singer, an engaging performer,
but for two decades his only outlet has been the overpriced German
archivalist label, Bear Family. This one popped out in 1994; it's
uneven, the sound fades, but as a memory jog it's most welcome. B+

James Talley: Touchstones (2002, Cimarron). Now a bit
beyond middle-aged, his peak firmly anchored in 1975, here he reaches
back for a bit of the glory that eluded him in his youth. Like John
Prine's Souvenirs, this is product without the pain of writing
new material, but whereas the Prine album feels like a holding action,
this one feels like self-renewal. His voice is still great, and this
time he relishes the music -- the western swing of his stone classic
Got No Bread, No Milk, No Money infusing his later protest
songs and his softer love songs. A-

Randy Travis: Trail of Memories: The Randy Travis Anthology
(1985-99, Rhino, 2CD). A no-brainer: Travis' two Greatest Hits
volumes were if anything too skimpy, and the later cuts don't tail off
either. He's a great singer, his songs are finely drawn and acutely
observed, his sense of country music so modest that it feels right
without the window dressing of labels. A

Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers: Roots & Herbs
(1961, Blue Note). The Penguin Guide called this the "great
forgotten Blakey album," and it's sent me back to the stacks to see
if I could find a better one. Not yet. Wayne Shorter wrote all of
the pieces here, and he sounds as good as I've ever heard him, but
Lee Morgan is even more incandescent, and Blakey's drumming is
endlessly inventive. A

Tina Brooks: Minor Move (1958, Blue Note). His first
record, but the last to work its way back in print. Why it took so
long is unfathomable: with Lee Morgan, Sonny Clark, and Art Blakey,
this is hard bop heaven. A

Thomas Mapfumo & the Blacks Unlimited: Vanhu Vatema
(1994, Zimbob). The downside is that it sounds like most of his other
albums, but fainter, the sound a bit washed out, a bit more subtle
than supple. But then it sounds like most of his other albums, which
draws you in once again. B

Spaceways Incorporated: Thirteen Cosmic Standards
(2000, Atavistic). The guy at the record store commented that when
this tribute to Sun Ra and Funkadelic came in, they had to play it,
and it really did do justice to both. My command of Sun Ra isn't
good enough to really judge, but the funktoons are nice and limber,
the way real jazz athletes can manoeuver around that old 4/4. Ken
Vandermark, of course, is the resident genius, but Hamid Drake is
quite a revelation as well. A-

Spaceways Inc.: Version Soul (2002, Atavistic). Ken
Vandermark, Nate McBride, and Hamid Drake return -- no particular
concept this time, just a set of oblique dedications ranging from
Jackie Mittoo to Serge Chaloff. The growth from the previous album
is palpable, especially in McBride's rock-solid grooves, but above
all I think it's Vandermark's most concetrated playing to date.
The jazz album of the year. A

Sonny Boy Williamson: His Best (1955-64, MCA/Chess).
Any artist who can fill 2-CDs as brilliantly as The Essential
Sonny Boy Williamson doesn't need a cheapo single CD sampler:
while the high points are mostly here, a more leisurely pace is
all the more delectable. And again, this is a bit shorter than
the otherwise equivalent The Real Folk Blues / More Real Folk
Blues. If you don't know him, start anywhere: his harp is
world-class, his voice definitive, but his sense of rhythm is
what really puts him over the top. It's not just his little lady
who gives eyesight to the blind. A

Peggy Lee & Benny Goodman: The Complete Recordings
(1941-47, Columbia/Legacy, 2CD). This roughly documents the transition
from big dance bands with the occasional singer to vocal stars backed
by big orchestratation. Lee is a good singer, but as the spotlight
focuses in on her, the horns stultify into filler, and even Goodman's
own effervescent solos -- which are often the high points here -- are
crowded out. B

Peggy Lee: The Best of Miss Peggy Lee (1945-69, Capitol).
This condenses an unheard 4CD box set, providing a good sampler for a
dozen or so big pop hits, along with some dull early cuts with hubby
Dave Barbour's band. B+

Marilyn Monroe: The Essential Recordings (1951-62, Music
Club). A better singer than I'd expected, but rarely distinctive. The
recordings here mostly issue from movies, where the context is missed,
and the excess piles up. B-

Dolly Parton: Little Sparrow (2001, Sugar Hill). The
grass is blue once more, the all-star support puts out, but the songs
are getting pretty limpid. B

Frank Sinatra: Strangers in the Night (1966, Reprise).
Short -- ten songs, only three of which crack three minutes, only one
topping 3:17. Breezy -- one of those rare Sinatra records where the
arrangements (Nelson Riddle, natch) just carry the Voice along for
the ride. Not that the Voice can quite keep up with "Downtown," but
at a more stately pace it's far from shot. I'm impressed. A-